Our Haunted Hearts
by RogueLuce
Summary: When privileged Blaine Anderson is sent to Dalton he isn't seeking redemption. His various addictions and the recent death of his best friend are all he can think of. In spite of his brusque new attitude, he finds a friend and more in Kurt, the young teacher's assistant. However the eerie school and Kurt have secrets of their own, and soon Blaine is haunted by ghostly whispers.


_**Preface:**_

 _ **Rating may go up!**_

 _ **Comments are always appreciated! Leave constructive criticism, no need to make needless mean remarks. I'll update soon-ish.**_

 _ **Some may find this triggering so beware!**_

 _ **Anyhow, thanks for stopping by, and I hope you'll enjoy this first chapter.**_

* * *

 ** _KURT: My Story_**

 _The whispers never left him. As if they were his own shadow, they were always trailing behind him, close enough not to lose sight of him._

 _Their hushed pleas seemed to grew louder with each day, until he could no longer distinguish their words._

 _He willed the cacophony to end, leave him be._

 _He missed the silence that had defined his boyhood._

 _To strike a deal with the otherworldly seemed to be his only salvation. And so he did._

 _His will no longer his own, he was finally set free of those screams. Or so he'd thought._

* * *

 _ **BLAINE: My Ending**_

Days merged with one another and boredom soon shifted into an apathy of sorts. Gradually the boy's liking for certain substances shifted into a painful craving. An animalistic need.

People started to notice, although, by then, it was far too late.

His life had already spiralled out of its axis.

He came to the realisation that he no longer cared wherever he was alive or not.

Or so he'd thought since he'd become detached from his own existence, and regained consciousness only in the wake of a tragedy, tragedy that forced him to choose once it and for all the path he wanted to take.

He felt relieved and happy while he stared at the blood pooling by his sides.

* * *

 **Chapter I : My Shadow Self**

Blaine Anderson scrunched up his face as he leaned closer to the car's window, a deep frown crossed his young features. "You gotta be shittin' me." He snarled, before leaning back into his seat. "They are wearing blazers Cooper. _Blazers_."

"Look Blaine," his brother's words were already drenched in condescendence, _great._ "This is it. Your last chance. Don't fuck it up."

Coming from Cooper, the warning was unusually… harsh. Blaine decided to ignore him or whatever rubbish he was going about, focusing instead on the building that they were parked by. Dalton looked fresh out of a brochure. It made him want to gag.

Hearing his brother's resigned sigh, which signaled the end of his rant, he turned to face him. "Just for a short period, you will lay low and then... we'll let you come home."

Blaine bit back his answer, stopping himself from shouting the string of insults he strongly wanted to let out. It wouldn't have helped his situation, _not one bit_.

"Can I at least have one last fag?"

Cooper grimaced at his chosen British slang, and before he could reply Blaine pulled himself out of the car and lighted a cigarette. He heard his brother grumble behind him and smirked, Blaine knew well how to unnerve him.  
He observed the school with contempt. He didn't want to return to his home, still he wasn't eager to be shunned away, forced to stay in a private school, not only that, but to be sent to the farthest away from his parent's house. They'd gotten rid of him the moment he stopped complying to their every petty whim or wish.

There had been a time where he actually liked his sheltered lifestyle.

Things changed.

When one tastes true freedom, it is impossible to return to such an ordinary thing as school, that had become one of his mantras.

Anyway, Blaine doubted he could feign otherwise, there was no way he could simply play along his parents charade. After all, he was not concerned by his _future._

Cooper dumped his bags by the sidewalk before giving him one last hardened glare.

"Stop being selfish Blaine. Remember, if you mess this up, it's the psych ward."

Blaine swallowed the lump in his throat, ignoring the pulsing rage that begged to be let out.

Cooper's expression softened when a teacher greeted them. He plastered on that charming smile of his, no trace of bitterness left behind. It made Blaine's knuckles eager to punch his teeth out. Not that he would do it. Not yet.

"So, Mr. Anderson, I do hope that you'll find a way to leave your recent troubles behind. Dalton is about focusing on your future, not your past." The teacher's words sounded recited, and to be fair, they probably were straight out of the academy's guidebook. "I'm sure you'll fit right in."

Blaine snorted, earning another glare from his brother.

"I'm sure he will," Cooper spoke slowly, hesitating over his words. "I'm off now, I have a meeting this afternoon, and I can't afford to be stuck in traffic. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, and I do hope that Blaine won't give you any trouble." He shook the teacher's hand, patted Blaine on the back, and left.

"Now then, I'll make sure one of our staff members shows you around." Blaine just nodded in response and followed the woman, whatever-her-name-was.

Dalton's grounds were huge, the main school building -impressive on its own- was flanked by acres of was an outside pool and both a football and hockey school's dormitory wasn't far from the main building. Other than the school's canteen there were two cafes. It seemed Dalton was a microcosm of the real world. Isolated and perfectly self-sufficient.

Blaine however saw it immediately for what it was. A prison.

Young starry eyed kids enrolled only to graduate as vicious spoilt men.

* * *

The teacher took him to a waiting room on the first floor of the main building and, before leaving, gave him one last reassuring smile. Blaine didn't reciprocate.

He slumped in his chair, fully aware of his childish behaviour.

He pulled his sleeves down, tugging at the frayed hems. The jumper didn't belong to his wardrobe. God forbid an Anderson wore such an old and worn out garment. When Cooper picked him up from the ward that morning he had frowned at his chosen attire. "I brought you some of your clothes."

"For all I care you can burn all of it. I'm not taking this off."

Cooper stopped himself from saying whatever he was going to say next, and after a resigned pause, he'd said:"They'll give you a uniform soon enough."

Blaine would have been happy to never change clothes again. The gray tattered jumper was the only thing that kept him from banging his head open against the room's creamy walls.

"The headmaster is ready to see you now." The mousy secretary informed him with an encouraging nod towards the headmaster's door.

A golden plaque stated in an elegant calligraphy 'Headmaster's Office'. _Tacky_ , Blaine muttered before opening the door.

The room was large and dark and it clashed with the waiting room's pastel design. At the center, situated in front of an arched window, was a massive wooden desk. The woman seated behind it did not lift her head from her magazine. "Not found of the fundamentals of good behaviour?" Her completely neutral tone gave nothing away, Blaine didn't know wherever the woman was being serious or not.

"I skipped that class."Blaine answered, his snarky reply sounded lame to his own ears. He couldn't even be bothered to act like an ass anymore. 24/7 it was tiring.

"We have a joker, great." The woman, who must have been in her early fifties was wearing a bright jumpsuit, something that struck Blaine as odd. She looked ready to go for a jog, not exactly the garments fit to run one of the most privileged school's in the country .

"I'm Sue Sylvester kid. And no, I'm not the official headmaster," the woman snorted, her earlier opinion regarding 'proper' etiquette forgotten. "I'm filling in. Still, that doesn't mean I'm going to overlook your rudeness. Now sit."

Blaine made a noncommittal sound before doing as he was told. _Good little soldier._

"I don't have much time, so I'll go straight to the point. We are aware of your _condition."_ she sneered, it was apparent enough to tell exactly what she thought of his condition. "One of the nurses as been assigned to you. She'll also accompany you to your weekly sessions to your treatment center." Each word was sugar coated, while her eyes seemed to be ready to burn holes in the boy's head. "A student will accompany you today and show you the academy's grounds." She scrunched her nose in distaste, apparently the little speech had drained her of any last false pretence. She pushed a few papers across the gigantic desk. "Timetable and other valuable informations," she said matter-of-factly, and then she simply waved him off. "Go now."

Blaine grabbed the papers, as slowly as he could possibly manage, before leaving the room.

His eyes lingered on the creamy walls, and his thoughts followed in suit. Smashing his head open didn't seem like a bad idea.

* * *

Outside the waiting room a boy was waiting for him. He was wearing the school's awful uniform, and had an irritating smile plastered on his pretty face.

"You must be Blaine!"He exclaimed in a too-enthusiastic tone.

 _And you must be a genius._ "It seems so." Blaine did not bother to annoy his annoyance.

 _You don't care anymore, right?_ He really didn't. So no point pretending he was nice and actually cared about anyone other than himself.

The blond boy's smile wavered for a moment, before breaking into an even more annoying grin. He was tall, and made Blaine feel more dwarfish than usual. Also, in some ways, the smiley boy reminded him of Sam. While his features were slimmer than what his former best friend's had been, they did share the same floppy blonde hair and the same bright expression. That same smile had been Blaine's ruin. He would have followed Sam anywhere, he had the scars to prove it.

" _What are you Blaine, a wuss?" Sam would say, the corner of his mouth barely lifted, then he would laugh -that beautiful laugh of his- and smile. "Nothing' will hurt ya as long as I'm around."_

The vivid memory dissipated all too quickly. "Well, you can always play along and pretend to be Blaine. I'm Jeffrey by the way, but you can call me Jeff." The blond kid offered him his hand, hand which remained unshaken and returned by his owner's side. "Not a fan of the good old handshake? Fair enough." It seemed that nothing could knock Jeff's smile off his face.

 _We'll see about that._ Blaine could practically taste his own bitterness, squirming it's way through him.

"Your blazer is in your room, I'll show you around before. It can be a bit overwhelming here." He looked around, frowning. "Where are your bags?"

Blaine shook the two black and battered backpacks he was holding. "This is it." One of them used to belong to Sam.

Jeff seemed to be taken aback, all too quickly he recomposed himself and his cheery self was back _on_. "Well then, let the tour commence."

Dalton seemed like any other private school. Neat, clean, elegant and mostly boring.

All the students were wearing those hideous -blue and red- blazers, that made them look all similar to one another. Preppy and tedious, that's what Blaine thought of the lot of them.

It wasn't as if he didn't share the same privileged background. His parents were just as rich and important, if not more so. That hadn't stopped them from sending him to mostly public schools. Cooper had studied in the best private schools, Blaine hadn't shared the same fate. He'd been homeschooled for a few years, before his mother had decided to amuse herself by enrolling him in a public high school.

In some way she'd been right thing. Blaine had met Sam.

Blaine veered away from those kind of thoughts, he couldn't have an _attack_ on his first day. He wouldn't allow himself to. He hated the pathetic boy he'd grown into. Spiteful as his attitude had become, he was weak and ill. _Don't even go there,_ he forced himself to pay attention to his guide.

He'd tuned out from Jeff's tour, and he had no idea of how they'd ended up standing in the dormitory. He couldn't even remember leaving the main building.

"And here we are, your quarters." Jeff announced, opening a door numbered zero-twenty-seven. "Your roomie is Nick, a friend of mine."

 _Great._ "Mmh." Blaine grumbled, surveying the room.

One side of the room was pristine; the single bed and desk were untarnished. In comparison, the other side looked as if it had just been ransacked by an angry mob. Comics and cds lay on most of the unmade bed while the desk was buried beneath stacks of books and various junk.

"He isn't always this messy, I swear." From Jeff's tone it seemed that he was accustomed to excuse his friend's behaviour. _Friends_. "I'm going to leave you be now, you can just… get cozy and whatnot. I think you also required to come to this morning's meeting. I guess...well, nothing." Blaine's less than amicable front had payed off, and he was finally alone.

He'd never been a loner, he'd hated it when he'd been home schooled. In high school he'd gotten along with almost everyone. He'd been one of those popular kids who isn't actually despised by every other student. In the end, that had been the cause of his less than exemplary lifestyle. Being popular gave him access to alcohol and other unsavoury substances. He'd also met Sam, at one of those _popular_ parties. Not that he was going to start thinking about Sam again.

Blaine's hands shook, and he dropped his bags to the floor. His body was still going through withdrawal symptoms, and although the worst had passed he was still far from recovery.

On his first few days at the hospital, when he'd first woken up, he'd missed his nose candy so much so that he'd forgotten all about his dead best friend. Blaine was ashamed of that, more so because his mind and body still craved the white powder more than any other thing.

* * *

Blaine couldn't help but laughing at his reflection. The blazer he made him look ridiculously dorky. His smile died when he noticed how his scar crinkled when he laughed. The scar was pretty hideous, it stretched from his left earlobe and stopped a few millimeters from his bottom lip. They'd taken the sutures off and his wound had evolved into an ugly scar. His parents had tried to pressure him into undergoing surgery, to be rid of it, he had ferociously declined.

It wasn't as if he'd ever been good-looking as his brother Cooper, or even Sam, but he took care of his appearance, and it had payed off. Both boys and girls seemed to like what they saw.

 _Not anymore scarface._

He had a bigger scar, on his chest.

Blaine shook those mopey thoughts away, his never ending pity party was getting to his nerves.

He didn't empty his bag, leaving it packed in his wardrobe. What was the point in unpacking when he would soon leave that place? He wasn't staying, he was certain of it.

The door opened, and Blaine looked up meeting the gaze of a brown haired boy.

"Oh, shit. Sorry, I forgot all about you." The boy, Nick, gave him a tight smile, before walking over to his side of the room. "I'm Nick, by the way."

Blaine nodded, although he wasn't keen on being sad all the fucking time, that didn't change his lack of interest in making friends, or even to act like he gave a single shit about anybody else other than himself.

" _God, you are so selfish Blaine. Think about mom and dad."_ His brothers unwanted words echoed in his mind, while his eyes skimmed over his new timetable.

Nick left, soon afterwards, without a goodbye. Message received. Loud and clear.

Blaine left too, the teacher who had first welcomed him had told him about a school meeting that morning. He wandered into the empty corridor, halfheartedly looking for a way to the ground floor.

A draft pushed his dark curls to the side. The boy whipped his head around, none of the windows were open. All the bedrooms were closed. Not many people would want to feel January's breeze, not when the school was probably paying quite a large amount to keep its buildings adequately warm.

His mouth had gone dry. He tried to ignore the lingering feeling left by the imagined winter wind.

 _It's all in your head,_ he told himself.

* * *

Blaine was late at the assembly. Needless to say his lack of attention during his tour was somehow at fault of his tardiness.

The auditorium, in which the assembly took place, was filled by students. There were only a few seats left, and they were the farthest at the back. He sauntered to one of the empty spots, earning a few disapproving looks from both his peers and teachers.

Standing on the stage Sue Sylvester was blabbering on about some new regulations, and various changes in some of the after school activities.

And that's when Blaine saw her.

A girl, standing just a few feet from Sue. She looked incredibly petite next to the older woman, who didn't even acknowledge her presence.

Why was the girl there? It was an all-boy academy, and she was definitely not old enough to be a teacher. For one, her informal stance made it clear. Her arms were folded across her chest and a deep frown were clear indicators of her feelings towards the temporary principle.

Her beige jumper had a silhouette of an animal -Blaine couldn't really make out exactly wherever it was a horse or not. The girl turned around, towards the audience, and her eyes surveyed the room with boredom. Her gaze met his and she froze.

She seemed to be actually gaping. _Rude,_ Blaine whispered to himself, she couldn't possibly be able to see his scar from such a distance, or did she?

She snapped out of it, and waved her arms around. His eyes follow the arch she created, now it was his turn to gape. What was wrong with her? And why was everybody else still focused on Sue Sylvester?

"You can see me!"She shouted. Her powerful voice boomed across the vast auditorium. "I know you can!"

Blaine was about to freak out. His hands tightened their grip on the seat's armrests, while he started to exhale slowly. He couldn't be one of _them_. Those former addicts who start seeing shit no one else can. He knew back at the ward, another coke-head who experienced episodes similar to schizophrenia. Blaine had gone through the worst of it, and now this? Maybe she really was there, maybe she was the school's special mascot or something... And while everybody else had learned to ignore her crazy outburst, he hadn't known about her situation. _That is demented, do you even believe the fucked up stuff you make up?_

The girl jumped off the stage, marching at a frightfully fast pace towards him.

Blaine squirmed backwards in his seat, she wasn't real. She wasn't real. He could clear his head and she would no longer be there. It was just a brief lapsus.

The bell rang, the sound foreign to his ears, yet he knew it meant freedom. The talk was over. He sprinted from his seat and made his way out of the hall, he heard the girl calling out for him, he ignored her.

* * *

Blaine's first class at Dalton would be History. If he concentrated hard enough on the lesson maybe he would forget his...whatever _it_ was.

His professor introduced him to the class, and seated Blaine next to an all-too-eager Jeff.

"I'm glad to see you've survived Sue's sermon. Just 'cause our principle isn't around she acts all high and mighty."

"She seems like a real bitch." Blaine said before he could think better of. For a brief moment he'd felt like his old self, or rather, being in class and talking to a classmate made him forget he was no longer that Blaine.

Jeff's pale eyebrows furrowed in a curious expression.

"What?"Blaine snapped, before returning his gaze on the blackboard.

"You don't look like the type who swears." Now it was Blaine's turn to frown. He certainly didn't look like a saint. "Round here it's quite rare." Jeff continued, unperturbed.

"Starling!"The teacher's voice cut off whatever Jeff was going to say next. "Could you please pay attention? Or at least restrain yourself from distracting your classmates. New students should be particularly focused on the topic being discussed in class."

Jeff flashed a million dollar smile, seemingly almost angelic. "I apologize for the interruption. Blaine asked me if he could borrow my notes, so he can catch up with the rest of the class." The smooth lie seemed to placate the teacher and the lesson continued.

Once upon a time Blaine would have called Jeff names, or joked about not wanting to be the one taking the blame, or even, he would have complimented Jeff's lying skills.

He did none of those things. He just grabbed the notebooks Jeff had slid to his desk.

" _He pulled a gun on me Sam! You are officially insane. What if he'd actually shot me?"_

 _Sam laughed, that gorgeous and rich laughter, the one that made Blaine's knees weak. "Come on, you know I'm the best truth stretcher around!"_

" _Dickhead."_

* * *

Blaine managed to survive the following periods without any other unwanted conversations. He made it clear that he wasn't the type for chats.

He was trying -and failing- to forget his episode, earlier that day. The whole thing seemed oddly surreal. Hallucinations didn't ask wherever they could be seen or not, or did they? Maybe the girl had actually been there. _Unlikely._

He eyed his timetable -for the tenth time that morning- and grimaced. Lunch break. He didn't even know where the canteen was, Dalton was a labyrinth. Most of the students were walking in the same direction, so he limited himself to follow the stream of people. That's when he noticed, the other boys were watching him with unnerving intent. Some even straight-out pointed towards him.

His step didn't waver, he found himself not to bothered by it. _Let them stare._

He walked into the cafeteria, which had little in common with the canteen at his old school. For once, the food looked edible, one might say appetizing even. Definitely way better then the meals he had to eat while hospitalised. His newfound happiness -if he could even call it that- was short lived. All the other students were actually looking at him. All of them. As if he was a new act of a freak show. _I thought they didn't bother you._

Blaine did not let his emotions seep to his face, he wore his scowl as a soldier wore an armour. His expression stated loudly and clearly: fuck off.

He bought a random lunch box and a drink, before leaving. He wasn't sure wherever one could eat outside the cafeteria, he saw no harm in trying. He sat close to the woods, as far from the main building as possible. He left his food untouched, and gulped down his energy drink. Not the _kick_ he was looking for, but better than nothing.

After a few minutes he surveyed the area before delving deeper into the groove, which was surprisingly privy of any fence or cautionary signs.

It took him a few tries before his hands were still enough to lit his cigarette.

He took a long -and needed- drag, relinquishing how the smoke seemed to envelop him.

Dalton, his last resort, had turned up to be worse than he'd imagined.

" _Do you wanna get out of here?"He'd asked, pulling on his cigarette._

No, not again. He needed to clear his head, a line would do the trick. It would make him forget, and it would soothe away the constant and unbearable sadness.

"You can't smoke on Dalton's premises. That includes the forest."

Blaine nearly dropped his cigarette. _Fuck._

"I suggest that you put it out, before I call Mrs. Sylvester." The boy, no, not a boy, a man, sat next to one of the many trees. He had an empty container next to him, and an open book in his lap. "Now." From the tone Blaine could tell he was a professor, regardless of how young he looked.

"I think I'll finish it off." Blaine replied, taking one more drag.

The man seemed taken aback, before resuming his disapproving stare. "I'm going to take a guess here, so please do correct me if I'm wrong: you're new here? Anderson...something?"

"Blaine." He hesitated, took one last drag and smashed the remaining stub into his open palm.

The man gaped at him. "That was stupid." Blaine's stared at a pair of shiny shoes standing before him. He lifted his head slowly, giving nothing away.

"Seriously, why would you do that?"

Blaine shrugged, he needed to say something, a reply of some sort, like a normal person would.

" _He ain't your friend Blainey boy. It's a dog eat dog world, he knows it. Do you?"_

A bell rang in the distance, and Blaine was vaguely aware of the stranger telling him to go to his next class. Or maybe he'd imagined it.

He was walking, towards the building, his head bobbing at each step.

" _I need it. Please. I'll pay you I swear. I'll do anything, anything. Please. Pleasepleaseplease…"_

It was his own voice, echoing in his head. A broken record.

They'd told him this could happen, he knew it would.

His hands were shaking now, he had to stop. Hadn't someone mentioned a nurse?

Breathe in, breathe out.

" _I think we are lost, aren't we?"_

That last voice wasn't in his head. It belonged to a girl, a scared girl.

He looked around and shivered. No one else was outside.

 _Crazy._

* * *

Blaine wasn't sure how he'd managed to reach his next class, no point in dwelling on the details, he'd made it. He'd been late, but the teacher, a curly haired man, didn't make a big deal about it.

"First days are the hardest, you'll get the hang of it soon, I promise." He reassured him with a big friendly smile.

Blaine offered him a smile of his own, but it wasn't quite right, it was closer to a grimace.

He, once again, sat in the farthest seat. His classmates followed his every uncertain step.

Will Schuester -his Spanish teacher- resumed his lesson. Blaine then noticed he'd forgotten his notebooks in the groove. Jeff's notes included.

The classroom door opened distracting him from scolding himself. The young man he'd met in the woods closed the door behind him, and gave a stack of papers. Schuester thanked him, before resuming his speech. He hadn't noticed earlier but the young man was particularly good looking, he must have been really out of it not to take notice of it or the designer clothes he was wearing. He seemed to be a sort of assistant, because he handed out some french books. When he reached the his row, he hovered by Blaine's table.

Blaine didn't allow himself to meet his gaze, he kept his head bowed, fixating his eyes on a crack on his desk's surface, as if it was the single most interesting he'd ever seen.

Mr. Schuster's assistant -or whatever else he was- didn't speak to him, after a few more seconds he dropped the book on his desk.

* * *

Blaine skipped dinner, he didn't even bother showing his face in the canteen. Once the last period was over he walked straight to the woods, hoping to find the spot where he'd been before.

Outside it was dark already, the bitterly cold air made him shiver in his uniform. His steps faltered -more than once- _you'll find them,_ he reassured himself, _then you can rest._

It took him awhile before Blaine recognised the clearing in which he'd stayed earlier. His books weren't there.

 _Great,_ all of that wandering through the dark for no good reason.

At that point, he was far too tired to really care. Thankfully, the dorm -unlike the main building- wasn't too far, and on his way back, he didn't encounter any other students, probably because they were still all in the canteen or in some other place he had yet to see.

His room was empty, _thank god._ He had a hot shower, to warm his cold limbs and crawled into his bed. He let his head rest on his pillow, vaguely aware of how different it was from the hard bed he'd slept in the night before.

He couldn't remember how long it had been since the last time he'd slept in a real bed, a bed he could call his own. Not that this bed was truly his, it was all temporary.

* * *

Before his life slipped out of control, Blaine Anderson had fairly normal dreams. He dreamed of his parents praising him and occasionally he dreamt of living far from the Anderson's household.

Once he'd started high school, he would dream of failing or acing exams.

Nothing other than common fears and wishes.

Those dreams belonged to Blaine Anderson the all-round good guy. The boy who could talk people into doing almost anything he wanted them to, the boy who was always surrounded by friends, the boy who was admired and looked up to.

Blaine Anderson the addict did not dream, not really. His dreams had merged with his reality, to the point where he often wondered what was real and what was imagined.

Blaine Anderson the psychiatric patient only had nightmares.

When he woke, after his first night at Dalton, he was pleased to discover that he couldn't recall his dreams. The moment of happiness was short lived. His hand, most specifically his palm, was painfully throbbing. He examined it in the darkness of his room, and shivered once he saw the burn. He did not recall hurting himself, yet the wound was painfully real.

Fear creeped over him, slowly inching it's way through his body, and soon he was completely paralysed by it. Something was wrong with him. Nor the doctor nor the pills could fix him.

They should have let him kill himself.


End file.
